


Bruised Spirits

by gentlezombie



Category: The Scarlet Pimpernel - Baroness Orczy
Genre: Background Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Yuletide New Year's Resolutions Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 02:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2906207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gentlezombie/pseuds/gentlezombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of <i>The Scarlet Pimpernel</i>, Sir Andrew looks after his leader aboard the Day Dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruised Spirits

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dkwilliams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkwilliams/gifts).



> Happy New Year, dkwilliams!

The graceful shadow of the Day Dream showed stark against the light of the breaking dawn. The tired fugitives walked with a renewed spring in their step under the magnificent purples and oranges of what promised to be a glorious day.

That is to say, two of them walked, for Percy Blakeney was carrying his dear wife in his arms. Although his face showed only profound happiness, there was a strain in his bearing which gradually made itself evident to Andrew Ffoulkes as they closed the distance to the vessel which would take them to safety.

Once aboard, Marguerite and Armand had their tearful reunion, showing a flair for drama only the French possessed. While the scene held everyone’s attention, Sir Percy slipped quietly to his cabin. Only Sir Andrew took note of his leaving.

He waited a moment, made certain that everything was in order on deck, and followed.

His cautious knock was answered with a slight delay. The door opened to reveal a very bedraggled Percy Blakeney, Baronet. His face was considerably cleaner than before, but he was still dressed in the dirty rags of his disguise.

“My dear fellow!” he said with a tired smile.

“May I come in?” Andrew asked, and Percy stepped aside to let him pass. There was no flourish to the gesture nor an excess of words. This more than anything told Andrew he had been right to follow his instinct.

“Is everything all right?” Blakeney asked Andrew. He looked restless, and the dark shadows under his eyes told a story of too many watchful nights.

“We will be setting sail any minute now. But I came here to ask you the same question. Are you all right, Percy?”

“A little bruised perhaps. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

But even as he said that he swayed slightly on his feet. He didn’t resist as Andrew took his arm and guided him gently to sit on the bed.

“Perhaps I am slightly worse for wear,” Percy admitted with apparent reluctance.

“What happened, man?” A hundred scenarios, each worse than the last, flashed through Andrew’s mind.

“Chauvelin’s men had a bit of fun with me. It made my blood boil, I’ll tell you, to have to lie there and take it, but there was nothing for it. Marguerite’s life was in danger. My only consolation was that the reputation of Englishmen was not soiled because they had no idea who I was.”

Ffoulkes took a deep breath.

“What do you want me to do?”

Percy’s white fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He sighed in resignation.

“Could you be so kind and help me out of these clothes? I can’t seem to manage it myself. Gad, but it hurts to lift my arms.”

Andrew took it upon himself to undress Percy with the same care and precision which he paid to all things. He carefully lifted Percy’s shirt over his head and peeled it down his arms. Blakeney hissed at the small movement this required of him, but remained otherwise silent as Andrew helped him out of the rest of his clothes.

This task was performed with minimal embarrassment; the two of them were best of friends, and necessity had often demanded that they abandon propriety in the service of a higher cause. The only unease Andrew felt was caused by what he saw when more and more fair skin was revealed.

When Percy was leaning back on the bed clad in only his drawers, Sir Andrew took stock of all the damage. A nasty bruise the colour of violets was blooming on Percy’s side, and a hundred smaller marks and scrapes all over. There was blood crusted in the corners of his mouth, presumably where a gag had broken the skin. Unless he had broken ribs, there was nothing which explained the difficulty of movement.

Percy took a deep breath, although it made him wince, and shuddered as though shaking off the remnants of his disguise. “What a relief it is to be out of those foul rags!”

Everything else, however, could not be shaken off so easily.

“Percy, could you do me the favour of turning around?”

Half-lidded blue eyes flashed at him.

“Must I? I’d much rather sleep for a year, although I’m afraid dear Marguerite might object.”

“I insist,” Andrew said, curt in his worry.

“Well, if you do insist,” Percy said with a sigh. Instead of twisting his upper body, he turned around on the bed and stretched his legs out in front of him. 

Andrew took a sharp breath. His friend’s back was a mess of bruises and lacerations. The worst damage was to his shoulders and upper back where some of the wounds were still bleeding sluggishly. The shirt he had been wearing had stuck to the wounds and the newly formed scabs had come off when it was removed.

Andrew laid a hand on his shoulder. The gesture was made awkward when he tried not to touch broken skin, but he felt it was all the more necessary.

“What happened to you, my friend?”

“They whipped me,” Percy said quietly, as though he was still astonished at the fact. “Chauvelin’s men, with their belts. He told them to use the buckle-ends. Lord, what a nasty piece of work that man is!”

All was explained in a few awful words. Anger coiled hot in Andrew’s stomach, but he forced himself to remain calm. There would be time enough later to get justice.

“I’m afraid those will have to be cleaned.”

There was a basin of fresh water waiting, and Andrew had made enough journeys on the Day Dream to know where bandages and other supplies were located. Percy’s eyes followed him as he prepared quickly and efficiently. Andrew knew implicitly that Blakeney didn’t want him to get anyone else, might in fact have preferred licking his wounds alone. Well, Andrew would grant him no such peace.

Percy did not complain when Andrew touched a soft cloth to his skin, but he must have been gritting his teeth.

“They didn’t even know it was me. I was nothing to them, and they beat me like a dog because they were told to and because it amused them.”

Andrew didn’t remember when he had last heard his leader’s voice stripped of all playfulness. The words were flat and tired. He continued his task, sensing that no words were required of him, although there were a hundred sentiments burning on his tongue.

“How can one win against such soulless brutality? How can one build a better world out of such material? God, at least, had the advantage of creating the world out of nothing.”

Percy winced as Andrew cleaned one of the deeper gashes and picked carefully at the thread stuck in the wound. They had all witnessed unbelievable cruelty which often left Andrew and his friends shaking at their core, all the more convinced of the vital importance of their secret work. Percy had seen more than all of them, but his spirit had always seemed indomitable. Only now Andrew understood how hard Blakeney worked to present such a front.

“I made a horrible racket, Andrew. I cried and moaned and thanked God for my disguise because not all of those cries were those of an unfortunate Jew.”

That was the crux of the matter, Andrew thought as he finished cleaning the wounds, the reason his leader was so shaken. To win this round in the game Percy had to lose, and in an utterly undignified and humiliating manner. Though the improbable scheme had worked, the man facing away from him with his shoulders tensed still thought he had lost.

Andrew looked at the livid bruises and cuts. He imagined metal biting into skin, thick leather leaving long red stripes in its wake. He imagined covering one’s face with bound arms to ward off blows and marvelled at the strength of will it must have taken to let it happen, to not fight back. He imagined being afraid.

And afterwards Percy had been moving about, seemingly as energetic as ever. He had refused all help and carried his wife onboard as a final chivalric gesture.

“Percy Blakeney, you are an idiot.”

Percy glanced at him over his shoulder. There was a tiny twinkle of amusement in the tired blue eyes.

“Half of England shares your sentiment, my friend.”

“Listen to you going on about such nonsense! The Lord may be all-powerful, but you are not. You can’t save everyone, Percy. But you do an awful lot of good, and I’ll be damned if I let you beat yourself up over it.”

There was a moment of quiet. Andrew could feel his friend’s shoulder shaking under his fingers. Before he had time to worry, he realised that Percy was laughing quietly.

“Thank you, Andrew,” he said. “I almost took myself seriously there for a minute. What is the world coming to, eh?”

“Indeed,” Andrew said, trying to sound stern, but he was close to relieved laughter himself. “It is my duty as a friend to tell you when you are being an ass.”

When he was finished with Percy’s back, he made him turn around again to inspect the rest of the damage. There was not much he could do about it; Blakeney claimed that he had no broken ribs, and after a cursory examination Andrew concurred.

Percy was watching him with half-lidded eyes as Andrew assured himself that no lasting harm had been done. His eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks. This notion made Andrew blink in surprise. His conscience reproached him because up on the deck was the brave and beautiful Marguerite with whom Blakeney was hopelessly in love, and back home in England waited his lovely Suzanne. But they went back a long way, him and Percy.

Andrew was certain all this was visible on his face as he glanced up at his friend. Blakeney only smiled at him fondly. Blood was still crusted at the corners of his mouth.

“I need to do something about that,” Andrew said. Practical and precise, he clutched at the first useful thing he could think to do and raised a damp napkin to dab at the corners of Percy’s mouth. 

The tips of his fingers brushed against chapped lips. The touch remained even as the stained napkin fell away. Percy’s warm hand wrapped around his wrist and held his hand there. Andrew hardly dared to breathe. Blakeney’s eyes closed as Andrew run his fingers over the cuts, feather-light, and trailed the curve of his lips. Without his masks and disguises, Percy looked much younger, as young as he had been when they had gotten into all sorts of mischief.

Overcome with fondness, Andrew leaned in to place a kiss on Percy’s forehead. Then he moved to gently kiss the corners of Percy’s mouth, one after the other.

“Thank you, my dear friend,” Percy said. As two pairs of blue eyes met, Andrew thought he was dangerously close to drowning.

Then they heard a bright peal of laughter from the deck – Marguerite, joyful and happy, united with her loved ones at last.

They smiled at each other as though in apology. Percy ruffled Andrew’s hair and lay down on his side.

“Are you done playing mother-hen to me? I find myself trussed up and thoroughly chastised, and I would dearly like to rest a while.”

“I’m satisfied for now,” Andrew assured him, “although you’d better let a doctor have a look at those scrapes when we get to Dover.”

“All right,” Percy huffed, “if it will end this demmed fretting.”

Andrew smiled at him. “Of course. Is there anything else you need before I go?”

“There’s a bottle of good old brandy in that cupboard over there. Could you be so kind and pour me some for medicinal purposes?”

The man had certainly earned it. Andrew handed a glass to Percy and helped himself to a drink as well. The liquor warmed his throat and steadied his nerves after the odd moment. Thus fortified he got up to go.

He was interrupted by a lazy, teasing voice.

“Speaking of chastisement,” Percy said, “I seem to remember I promised you some. When I’m all mended, of course.”

Andrew had quite forgotten Percy’s words upon their meeting, but now they came back to him.

“My insubordination turned out quite happily for all of us.”

“And I thank you for it, and for looking after my wife.”

“Still, insubordination should not be tolerated.” Andrew blushed. “I assume you know how to handle such matters.”

“I might have some small inkling, yes.”

Lord, that wicked smile would haunt Andrew for years to come.

“Then I trust myself in your hands.”

With that Andrew turned to go, uncertain of what he would say or do otherwise. Blessed wind cooled his flaming cheeks on deck as he went to look for Marguerite to send her to her husband.

**Author's Note:**

> There's two passages in _The Scarlet Pimpernel_ which screamed fic to me.
> 
> "...he would not stay to hear the expressions of their gratitude, but found the way to his private cabin as quickly as he could, leaving Marguerite quite happy in the arms of her brother."
> 
> "'My friend!—I have not yet had time to ask you what you were doing in France, when I ordered you to remain in London? Insubordination? What? Wait till my shoulders are less sore, and, by God, see the punishment you'll get.'  
> 'Odd's fish! I'll bear it,' said Sir Andrew with a merry laugh, 'seeing that you are alive to give it...'"
> 
> The end of the book simply demands some h/c - our hero's been battered pretty badly, yet everyone seems more interested in Marguerite and Armand's reunion. As to the latter quote, someone should write that. Possibly me.


End file.
